Grumble grumble I always mess up something and don't notice it grumble grumble.
And yes, this is a 'prequel' story taking place about... oh, two and a half years plus or minus six months... before game start, from the point of view of Mitsuba Roma, also the protagonist of Buzzsaw and a bit character in Hammering Out a Plan.
You answer with a grin and leap, stopping five meters in the air, tossing an alarm watch to him. "By example. Set the alarm for three minutes. Try and tag me with a blast. Three times in three minutes, and you win- but either way, watch what I do, and how I do it."
Jaffur nods slowly, wheels turning in his head. "Of course, Master Mitsuba." His smile has a wolf-cub eagerness to it. "I can play tag... If you can."
He shifts- hm, that isn't quite the ninth stance of Vegeta Style, but it looks more like he had some teachers with funny ideas, not like he needs his form corrected. Besides, you're not here to teach Vegeta Style. A ball of energy crackles in the prince's left hand, and his right reaches for the watch, and you call out two words, rising into the air. "Ready! Set!"
Then the third. "Go!" you shout, tapping your own alarm watch as Jaffur keys its twin. The little Scion lets out a long war-whoop as he pelts you with blasts. Mitsuba: "Aerobatic" fires. Bonus applied.
You twist, you whirl, you tuck yourself into a ball and spin past bolts that would clip your wrists and ankles. You volley a few shots straight back at him once in a while, ones that would have missed anyhow, just to keep him honest. That surprises him- too much eye for the offensive, a classic Vegetan weakness that you can maybe nip in the bud, you hope.
"DAAAKADAKADAKADAKAAAH!" Jaffur cries out, letting fly with a rain of energy blasts, and that is a touch of Vegeta Style. He fills the sky with fire while you swoop, jink, spin and twist far above. He's a pretty good shot, you underestimated how good. If he knew a decent ray attack he might be winning this- OW! Where did he learn that?
A bolt that you thought was headed just past your left hip angles up and thumps you in the belly, making a sudden sharp turn. You see more of them starting to do that- and they're not under active guidance like Spirit Balls, just made with a bit of spin on them. Makes things harder. Still manageable. Probably.
You have less than a minute and a half on the clock though, it has to be- but the Scion is gritting his teeth furiously and pouring it on. Jaffur mixes straight shots and curveballs, bolts that split and recombine. Tricks the Vegetan masters usually don't teach even their brightest students until they hit full growth, because you have to be able to make your ki sit up and beg to do it at all.
You're pretty sure you recognize an echo of Dura Kamir as one bolt shotguns out into five, then fifteen. Your arms are out of position to deflect and it'd feel like cheating anyhow. You grit your teeth, bracing-OW! Not much force... but the kid's tagged you again. The old master taught Scion Yammar that trick, nearly half a century ago; the Vegetan princes don't seem in any hurry to let the secret go.
You start burning power, flaring pulses of telekinesis against the air as ersatz reaction jets. Whirling off-axis and whipsawing around the rain of fire around you, spinning off bubbles of your aura, forging your ki into heat shield and hypersonic lifting body. You use every aerobatic trick you know. Some you've seen and copied, some you've been taught. Some all your own, that you've never taught a soul.
Merely ordinary ki sense isn't quite enough to predict and strike at a really great flier. Not when she gives it her all, not when they have to aim for where she'll be and not where she is. To match that kind of evasion, they have to know the air. Not many know the air like you do. Jaffur doesn't, at least not yet. Maybe some day.
But what the young Scion lacks in knowledge and guile, he's making up for with sheer output. The blasts roll from the child's hands in waves, by the dozen and the score. His mad-minute volume of fire kept up through the second minute and into the third. It's that precocious ki control in action again. He can throw shot more efficiently, keep up a barrage at a higher rate, for longer, than most trainees twice his age.
If he takes his skills on into the classical Vegeta Style of his house, you can tell already that one day, he'll become be one of the best ranged fighters the Exiles have ever known. Better than his father and grandfather, hopefully in more ways than one- but definitely in this one.
The third minute runs long, long. He isn't a great master yet... but you hadn't planned on him being even this good, when you volunteered as a target practice dummy. Giving it all you have, you keep clear of his tightening patterns of blasts and fire, the waves of bolts hurled from the Scion's flashing hands and screaming soul. For thirty seconds, forty, fifty. Fifty-five...
And you come out of a spinning three-dimensional twist just in time to- WHAM! -meet a ki blast coming the other way, clipping you in the shoulder.
You underestimated him. Flexing your jaw, you think to yourself, This isn't as humdrum as you thought, is it?
On the other hand, it looks like you just showed the Scion that the funnily-dressed Gokun tournament fighter does, by the Ancestors, know her stuff. You smile wide as the young prince looks- impressed, shading down to 'coolly respectful' as he catches himself; he is Vegetan royalty. Then Jaffur speaks.
"You're a good flier."
"And you're shaping up to be a fine marksman, Scion." you stretch, breathing heavily and patting out a faintly smoldering patch on your training cloak.
"I didn't think you could dodge that many blasts. Not without more speed or power." Then his eyes narrow. "But when would you do that, in a real battle? Wouldn't it be better to destroy your enemy, or fly away if you couldn't do that?"
"Good question! In the ring I wouldn't keep something like that up, except for show. I'd be concentrating less on dodging, and more on lining up my own shots. Still, it never hurts to know how to get out of the way of a big ball of trouble. Or a few dozen little ones." You wink at him. Jaffur nods, solemnly.
You continue, clapping your hands together. "So, I think I have a pretty good idea of the state of your training in long range combat." You wipe a few beads of sweat off your brow, then turn and blow away the faint haze of smoke still wafting around the edge of your cloak. "Now I need to see how you do at close quarters..."
And the young prince smiles back, for a wonder.
A hand-to-hand spar can be a wonderful aerial dance, and you like it that way- but not today. You're exploring the Scion's close combat techniques, probing for areas he isn't so trained up in. Learning what to teach, for the rest of a day you're now daring to hope you'll enjoy.
Jaffur twists and jabs, flashing around from every angle. He's trying to get past the adult's superior reach. Everyone who starts out serious as a kid has that problem, even at equal power level. But it's good practice, and it can breed good fighters. Besides, keeping the tyke at bay is tricker than you'd expected. His edge isn't all from listening to good old Kamir.
The usual weaknesses of a Vegeta stylist, even a hard-training one, are close quarters and direct confrontation against single powerful opponents. But if anyone ever told Jaffur he was supposed to be bad at close quarters against a lone heavy hitter, the kid must have spat in their face. For that matter, you're not sure 'Vegeta Style' fits him at all. A lot of the moves are the same, but he's put them together upside-down and inside-out. That improvisational flair isn't letting Jaffur down, not when it comes to his skills as a budding little duelist.
And yet. And yet.
You've spent most of your years practicing your hand-to-hand combat. Training your punches and kicks, training your guard against same. You've spent tens of thousands of hours at it. Probably more hours than the little Scion's spent conscious. Maybe more than he's spent alive.
So you hold him off, and hold him off. He keeps trying to get in close, and his attempts are... interesting. Very interesting. Until you decide there's only one way to really know how he'll do, when he gets a chance to do more than jab at your warding arms. You leave him an opening. Or rather, the chance to make an opening.
The kid jumps on it. Shouting triumphally and sweeping your right arm aside with a flying, two-footed kick, Jaffur gets in close. The little prince follows up with punches, hammering away at the shield of your ki. The blows hurt- sharp, efficient, forceful. Journeyman-grade, with hints of the master he'll grow into.
And you're right at his power level. His little fists might look harmless to a grown woman, but they carry as much energy as your own, as he bobs and weaves to avoid your own blows. He must figure he's inside your guard; being tiny has its advantages. But he doesn't reckon on some of the tricks of flexibility and grace that long practice can bring- and when you push back and land a kick, the Scion's eyes go wide.
Allowing for power level, that was full force. Not the kind of wound-up blow you'd use if you were trying to put down a raging oozaru, to be sure- but enough to make a peer competitor go flying. Jaffur, light as he is, goes flying hard, his own aura sputtering white and trailing sparks as his defenses dent and shudder from the impact. He tumbles through the air, fifty meters, more, before righting himself.
"HYAAAAAAA!" Jaffur screams. The air around the Scion shimmers with unstable energy, as he fuels his aura with raw determination. Blue-green flickers dance across his skin, air molecules radicalizing as the power pushes the limits of even his precocious control. Then he lowers his head and dives at you, trailing a shockwave of blue witchfire.
You can outfly most people, even on your own level, without too much trouble. But for a moment the Scion's sheer straight-line speed on the approach takes you aback, catches you by surprise. You begin a dodge but he corrects and somewhere he gets another burst of speed, screaming like a mad meteor. The blood of Gohan flows through his veins, as it does through all Exiles, and WHOOOF! Now you know how Raditz felt.
Headbutted by a super-toddler. Ow ow ow.
You resist the urge to clutch your stomach, with a bit of difficulty. Inhale, exhale. There is no pain. Better. Jaffur floats in midair, glaring furiously if unsteadily. That knock on the head must have rattled him. But the kid's getting mad. "You let me get those punches in. You're holding back. Stop holding back!"
"You want me to go to six million?"
"I want you to go to fifteen!"
...Wait what.
When you started planning for this session, you specifically studied the Vegetan Admonish the Unwise But Socially Superior Child Head-Tilt. And the Finger-Waggle of Restraining Impetuous Youth, Respectful Variant. Now you use them.
"Scion, you will not learn much from fighting me at fifteen million. And I won't learn much about your skills as they stand either. Not unless I hold back on my own skills very, very hard. And I never fight that stupid."
Jaffur smiles. "Don't be too sure, Master Mitsuba. You still haven't seen everything I can do."
You shake your head, feeling... fond of the spirit he's showing, if not fond of the crazy. "I'm here to teach you, not hurt you. You're good at this, honey, but nobody's that good."
He balls a little hand and shakes a fist at you. "Do you think I'm a baby!? Didn't that last hit get your attention? I can do it again if you like!"
You grin wide, a smile that isn't calculated. The push to excel, that's always the ticket. "Oh, you've already got my full attention, Scion. But do you want me to stop holding back? Really go all-in? Then show me you're smart, not just fierce. You're learning how to hit. That's good! But what have you learned that you think will really impress me?"
Jaffur stares angrily. "You know, I can tell you're making a game out of this." Then he almost smiles himself. "...but you're right."
While I'm enjoying the chance to get a better grasp of her character (for obvious reasons), you should perhaps consider putting the chapters in spoilers.
[Exasperatedly doubles down on the proofreading for Chapter Three. AGAIN. Because SOME DAY I will do well enough to satisfy the Unblinking Eye of Terrabrand. GRRRR.]
While I'm enjoying the chance to get a better grasp of her character (for obvious reasons), you should perhaps consider putting the chapters in spoilers.
It's a tradeoff between reducing omake visibility for people who don't want to see omakes, and reducing omake visibility for people who do want to see them. That's kind of a zero-sum game, so I picked the option that doesn't inconvenience the people I'm specifically hoping to bring benefit to.
The most issue I've had with googledocs was formatting stuff which can be resolved by clicking the 'remove text formatting' doodly in the rich text editor. Their setup could be different, though.
Done with Turkey Day, which means done with the in-laws, which means I'm back at a computer, which means tabbed browsing again thank you sweet Jesus.
I am waiting on one thing, and then the update pops -- likely tomorrow. It is a long one, and I hope it's satisfying to make up for the long wait. See you soon, folks!
"Maya? You'd better sit down for this. I'm secretly an alien princess. My people are refugees from a Great Enemy who destroyed our old homeworld, "Earth." If he ever found out we were here, he'd come to destroy this world, too. So my people have to pretend to be ordinary humans of Garenhuld. I have a magical disguise- yes, magic is real too- so that I can live in my secret identity as an ordinary human schoolgirl. The average member of our species can train to be as strong as I figure you're going to be about a year from now. Because I'm the heir to my father's throne, I'm allowed to use a secret transformation that is way stronger than that, but only when it's very, very important. Because the Great Enemy mustn't ever find out about this planet, or that my people are hiding here."
"Maya? You'd better sit down for this. I'm secretly an alien princess. My people are refugees from a Great Enemy who destroyed our old homeworld, "Earth." If he ever found out we were here, he'd come to destroy this world, too. So my people have to pretend to be ordinary humans of Garenhuld. I have a magical disguise- yes, magic is real too- so that I can live in my secret identity as an ordinary human schoolgirl. The average member of our species can train to be as strong as I figure you're going to be about a year from now. Because I'm the heir to my father's throne, I'm allowed to use a secret transformation that is way stronger than that, but only when it's very, very important. Because the Great Enemy mustn't ever find out about this planet, or that my people are hiding here."
"Maya? You'd better sit down for this. I'm secretly an alien princess. My people are refugees from a Great Enemy who destroyed our old homeworld, "Earth." If he ever found out we were here, he'd come to destroy this world, too. So my people have to pretend to be ordinary humans of Garenhuld. I have a magical disguise- yes, magic is real too- so that I can live in my secret identity as an ordinary human schoolgirl. The average member of our species can train to be as strong as I figure you're going to be about a year from now. Because I'm the heir to my father's throne, I'm allowed to use a secret transformation that is way stronger than that, but only when it's very, very important. Because the Great Enemy mustn't ever find out about this planet, or that my people are hiding here."
Done with Turkey Day, which means done with the in-laws, which means I'm back at a computer, which means tabbed browsing again thank you sweet Jesus.
I am waiting on one thing, and then the update pops -- likely tomorrow. It is a long one, and I hope it's satisfying to make up for the long wait. See you soon, folks!
Gah, unexpected interruptions suck. The update is written, but I have one last hang-up I didn't anticipate. Sorry, folks. If it is any consolation, I literally just need one thing and it's done. Not even any writing required, so it'll be the work of seconds once I have what I need. You'll see it fairly early tomorrow once I get confirmation (read: in a few hours, for some of you).
[x] Highlights reel (Poptart writes some interesting fighting scenes, the final match, any other tournament events, and then proceeds on with the next event of the year.)
Tabe Stauber: TAH-bay STAOW-bur.
Second linked video provided at @Aranfan's request.
The World's Greatest
The more you watch of the final rounds, the more incredible they appear.
You've grown up around your mother. You know what good looks like. You've trained under your father. You know what great looks like. You have fought, sparred, and trained with Jaffur Vegeta. You know spectacular.
But you have never seen so much great in one place in your entire life. These, it sinks in, are your people's greatest warriors -- the fighters who define the martial arts for the Exiles. In these individuals is the example towards which your people strive.
You feel outclassed. Before your strength, every one of these fighters is irrelevant, but if you were brought down to their level -- if you had fought among them -- you would have lost before ever reaching this point.
And deep down, even though you don't like fighting the same way your people do...
Tabe Stauber, the Heir of his House, is only fourteen, and newly so at that. Barely more than a year your own senior.
Amaya slides into a forward stance, clearly intending to end this quickly. "Are you serious? Why are all of the children coming out for this? If I was in the room with Lord Berra decided this..."
Tabe shrugs, bouncing from foot to foot before settling into Demon Style. "You weren't, though. So we came." He raises his arms. "Gonna do something about it?"
Amaya's eye twitches, and he surges forward.
Tabe immediately springs up to above head height and kicks off of his opponent's scalp, shooting into the air. "Masenko...HA!"
Amaya slams into the ground with a surprised grunt, his momentum nearly carrying him off the edge of the platform before he digs his fingers into the tiles of the ring and-
tsew
The older saiyan appears to move in slow-motion to your senses, but it would be a phase-step to anybody at his own power level. Yanking hard, the professional fighter reverses all of his momentum in a heartbeat, teeth gritted against the jolt. He goes from tumbling to charging in a heartbeat and slams into Tabe full speed.
The Stauber Heir rolls with the hit, tumbling backwards and lashing out with a powerful kick that Amaya has to block. Taro gains just a hair's separation and-
"HAH!" he shouts, throwing his arms wide and releasing an explosive wave.
Taro tumbles back, cursing. "For the love of- Stop that!"
Tabe puts his fingers to his head. "How about- Makankosappo!"
Amaya lunges to the side, but not quickly enough to avoid a singe along his arm. A heartbeat later, Tabe changes tactics and rushes him, landing a heavy blow to the injured limb.
"He is very good at controlling the momentum of the fight," says Dad.
"Yeah, and he fights for keeps," you say. "Taro didn't take him seriously, and now Taro's main arm is almost useless."
Which is true. Taro is thoroughly on the defensive, and fighting with only one arm -- the other a useless and very vulnerable liability. That would be a problem for any fighter, and a big one. For a Goku stylist?
You wince as Tabe kicks the injured arm again. "It's over."
As you say that, Tabe puts on a sudden burst of speed, slipping past his opponent's guard and hammering in with a series of strikes to the ribcage to steal his breath. Amaya gapes, desperately trying to suck in air.
Tabe draws his arms back, energy coursing all over his body. Then he thrusts them forward, unleashing his ki in an Evil Explosion.
The arena wards shatter, and Taro lands a few miles away, out in the wider hall.
The crowd begins to cheer, and you hear Miss Fren saying, "A spectacular finish! Where have all of these talented newcomers been hiding?"
You lean forward, grinning. "That was amazing."
Down below, Taro looks up to you and your father in your box and grins. "Thanks!"
You laugh, leaning back.
* * *
"Cynthia Balor and Bulma Kane!"
You watch the two women approach each other. Cynthia is as ever -- blank-faced, giving her opponent a brief and respectful nod.
Her opponent is ancient.
You listen as Miss Fren introduces Bulma.
"Bulma Kane is one of the greatest competitors ever to grace the ring," says Miss Fren, her voice somewhat hushed from her usual level of bombast. "I've announced her as the winner of the Cap Circuit eight times. Announcers before me have announced her another eight. At ninety years old, many thought she wouldn't be showing up today at all. And yet we've seen her in the preliminary rounds. We've seen her in the midterms. And we're seeing her today, in the last semi-final match to determine the final pair for our final fight."
Bulma turns to the press box with a quiet smile. "I have at least one last fight in me, Papata," she says. "I only hope I can give you all something of a show." She winks, turning to Cynthia.
Cynthia gives Bulma a deep and respectful bow before sliding into her stance.
Bulma chuckles. "Very courteous, dear. But come on, now, there's no need for such ceremony." She unfolds her hands. "Let's be on with this. You'll want to bring your weight a bit further back."
Cynthia blinks. "I'm sorry?"
Bulma nods at Cynthia's feet. "Your weight is a little too far forward. It's very apparent that you're going to be charging as your first move."
The ancient saiyan leans by the slightest of fractions to the side, and the blast bounces off of the arena wards. "Better, but you're still giving me tells. You're thinking too much. Your body knows what to do. Let it act." She begins stepping forward. Cynthia slowly closes in as well.
Cynthia makes the first move, phasing forward into a kick aimed for Bulma's center mass. The old woman pauses her stride for a heartbeat and lets the kick sail past her chest before stepping into the wake of the swing, stooping slightly, and pulling Cynthia's leg out from under her.
Cynthia twists in mid-air, ki pouring off of her. Rather than fight it, Bulma simply hops slightly and lets the currents carry her back, sliding to a halt several meters away. Meanwhile, Cynthia finishes twisting and comes out with both hands pointing forward. "Kamehameha!"
Bulma, still bending her legs on landing, simply lowers her head a little further and lets it pass her by. "Much better!"
Cynthia's fingers come up to her head-
vip
-and she promptly goes head-over-heels as Bulma smoothly adapts to her opponent's sudden presence, catching Cynthia's punching and tugging, other hand coming-
skreeeeee
A blast finally issues forth from the tournament competitor's hands, adding to Cynthia's already-substantial momentum and sending her tumbling.
Both women take a moment to collect themselves.
"A vast improvement," says Bulma, nodding. "But you're still too offensive. There's something to be said for making one's own openings, Krillin Stylist, but you're pushing too hard. It doesn't matter what you do if I know that every movement is going to bring you within my reach. You don't have enough control over the momentum to keep charging like you are."
Cynthia cocks her head. "But you never come to me."
"Don't I?" she asks, smiling. "Busy as you are, when would you have found the time to learn that?" She shakes her head. "No, your mistake is in attacking on lines which favor me."
tsew
Before you finish blinking, Bulma is already halfway across the distance to Cynthia, which should not be possible. Cynthia backpedals, raising her arms-
Bulma's hand snaps out, a tiny pellet of ki turning the ground under Cynthia's feet into dust. It is just enough to send Cynthia pitching back.
Bulma reaches Cynthia and plants her hand on the younger woman's forehead, driving her back and down into the ground. It splinters under the impact, cracks racing each other to the edges of the ring.
Cynthia groans as Bulma steps back. "...ow."
"Attack in ways to which your opponent cannot respond," says Bulma, folding her arms behind her back. "Don't overpower. Don't force. Use your opponent's body against them."
Cynthia stands up, shaking rock dust off of her clothing. "...okay. I think I get it."
"Patience," says Bulma. "It's a long lesson."
Cynthia nods, a serious look on her face, and moves in.
Bulma is magnificent. The more you watch, the clearer it is -- her strength has deserted her in old age. She's barely at one hundred thousand, let alone the permitted five. And she's still holding her own.
Cynthia advances more cautiously than her previous attempts, abandoning her blitzing strategy. She stays just out of reach, firing blasts from close range, where they -- surely -- cannot miss.
Yet miss, they do. Bulma is simply never there when Cynthia fires her blast, leaning to this side or the other. You've seen her earlier in the tournament, of course, but she has never performed like this. In every other match it was over before you could finish blinking, her opponent careening out of the wards before they could finish setting up.
Now she's showing off what she can do. That, or Cynthia is good enough that Bulma doesn't feel secure enough to capitalize on her advantages. It's hard to tell.
"How are you so fast?" asks Cynthia as she moves, in a voice surprisingly devoid of frustration. It sounds-
You blink. It sounds like you do, when you're asking Sensei something about the Sight.
"I'm not," says Bulma. "You are a young woman, and five times my current strength. You are far faster than me. But I'm moving while you're still considering whether or not you'd like to. You're wasting time."
Cynthia skids to a halt, considering for a moment. "...I think I understand what you're saying. You just have it learned so well..."
"You have learned your defenses that well," she says. "What would you do if I threw something at you? You'd flinch. You've trained better instincts into your body. But you second-guess them when something is on the line, because you don't yet trust them." She leans forward. "Trust them."
tsew
Bulma charges in once again, and-
thump
Cynthia is already moving, catching the strike, one arm blurring around in a lightning-fast swipe aimed at Bulma's neck-
tsew
-who leans backward and tugs Cynthia with her, ki building in her off-hand-
vip
-even as Cynthia transmits the both of them to the very top of the wards, a glow building underneath her skin-
BANG
-and Bulma spins away as Cynthia releases an area burst. Bulma regains control just shy of the wards, a hand's breadth away from impacting-
vip
-before Cynthia transmits in behind the elder woman, fingers to her forehead and one arm raised.
SKREEEEEE
It's actually a relatively gentle blast -- a great wave that exerts more pressure than it does damage. And it pushes Bulma just barely through the wards.
Dead silence falls. Distantly, you actually do hear a pin drop.
And then Miss Fren bellows at the top of her lungs, "CYNTHIA BALOR WINS THE SEMI-FINALS MATCH AGAINST BULMA KANE!"
And the crowd goes nuts.
Cynthia lands outside the wards, helping Bulma to her feet. The two women share a private word with each other and then give each other respectful bows.
They then separate, returning to their places -- Cynthia to her taciturn friend, now with a few other companions in tow, and Bulma to her House, which welcomes her back with all of the fussing typical of doted-upon children and grandchildren receiving their (slightly) injured matriarch.
Which, of course -- you can see the audience slowly realizing -- means that the last match -- the final match, the match to determine the best the Exiles have, the greatest tournament in living memory, comes down to...
* * * HOW THE FUCK
"TABE STAUBER AND CYNTHIA BALOR!"
The crowd goes wild, and you surge to your feet, cheering, as the two competitors approach each other.
Miss Fren keeps her patter going in the background. "Folks, nobody was expecting this! In a tournament filled to the brim with professional fighters, the two who make it to the very end are two complete newcomers -- one of them only just fourteen years old! This is already the greatest upset in years, and there's still time for another! Get ready for one of the greatest matches in living memory as two of the most promising young fighters in our whole society come together to decide who's the best!"
You and your Dad both move to the rail of your box in order to get a better view. You can see the people in the stands on their feet, roaring in excitement.
Cynthia and Tabe approach each other. Cynthia is, as ever, focused on her opponent. Tabe takes a moment to glance at you and your father before refocusing on Cynthia. He looks nervous.
Understandable.
They stop some distance apart from each other. Cynthia looks into the stands and waves to somebody. Then she looks back at Tabe, giving him a friendly smile. "Congrats on getting this far. I didn't expect to either." She slides her foot back and takes up a stance. "Let's give everyone a good show, yeah?" Her hands come up.
Tabe gives her a jerky nod, visibly taking his nerves in hand. "Su- sure thing. I'm not going to lose!" He assumes his own stance.
Miss Fren raises a hand. "The final match for the tournament purse begins..." She holds a moment, letting the moment stretch. The crowd goes silent in anticipation. She grins. "NOW!" Her hand comes down.
Tabe immediately springs forward, firing a hailstorm of blasts at Cynthia. She retreats, but slower than he's advancing. Just as he approaches to melee range, her hands come together, framing her sternum. "LIGHT GRENADE!"
Tabe kicks up and over the blast, flipping, as Cynthia suddenly plants her foot and starts to spring back.
As he comes out of his flip, however, his arms spread wide, you see a triumphant grin on his face. "HELLZONE GRENADE!" His arms sweep inward, and the blasts he fired race in on Cynthia.
BOOM
"And the match is off to a fast start!" says Miss Fren. "Tabe's trying to take the offensive, but Cynthia isn't going to make it easy on him! The question is, did she manage to- she did-!"
Cynthia rockets out of the smoke, arms cupped with a blue ball between her hands. "-MEHA!"
Tabe barely rolls under the blast, kicking at Cynthia's legs as he does. She tucks them in and then backs off, firing a spread of blasts to ward him away.
The retreat from each other for a moment, taking a second to take each other's measure again. You see Tabe glancing up at you and your dad again, apparently distracted.
Cynthia rolls her eyes and snaps her fingers. Tabe flinches and refocuses on her.
"Keep your head in the game, Tabe," she says, raising an eyebrow.
A moment later, a brilliant flush spreads across his face, and he rears back. "MASENKO- ah!"
As he raises his arms, Cynthia's fingers flash to her forehead and-
vip
-she appears at his side, blasting him away before he can complete the blast and then raising her arm over her head. "Kienzan!"
The disk flashes out, slow enough that Tabe has the time to dodge, dangerous enough that he has no choice. Cynthia closes in on him before he finishes cancelling his momentum and kicks him into the ground before pulling her hands back. "Ka...Me..."
Tabe flares his aura, parting the dust cloud his landing raised as he climbs to his feet.
"Ha...Me..."
He looks up.
"HA!"
Immediately, his fingers flash up. "Makankosappo!"
The thin beam lances out, and while it's too rushed to pierce straight through the Kamehameha to hit Cynthia, it does tear apart the tip of the blast, forcing it to burst prematurely. As the flare obscures their view of each other, you see them both dart to the side while visibility is down.
The same side.
You giggle slightly as Cynthia rockets face-first into Tabe's chest and they go tumbling through the air, grappling for the advantage. Cynthia quickly gets the upper hand, levering Tabe over her shoulder and forcing him to be the first to hit the ground. He gives a muffled shout, face buried in the arena floor, and looses an explosive wave to knock her back.
Cynthia checks her momentum with a handspring and flips to her feet, skidding across the arena floor. Her glasses went missing at some point. Her hair whips wildly as she pulls her arms back "KA...ME...HA...ME..."
Tabe stumbles to his feet and digs in his foot to dart for the side-
crunch
-and it gives way under the pressure. He stumbles.
Cynthia's hands come forward. "HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Tabe's arms come up.
SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE...
You blink and squint through the light, the glare making it difficult for even you to see. At length, you get a glimpse of what's happening.
Tabe got hit square-on, right in the chest and underneath his arms. Cynthia went for center-mass. As you watch, the pressure shoves him back, tipping over the point where his weight rests. Willpower Push, DC 100: Pass thump-crunch
Your eyes widen as his foot shoots out and digs into the arena floor.
You see him gritting his teeth, head bowed against the pressure of the wave even as his shirt turns to dust and the rest of his clothing starts tearing apart.
He takes a step forward.
Cynthia frowns in consternation and focuses, putting a little more oomph into the blast.
Tabe takes a step forward.
She narrows her eyes and focuses it down into a single, dense line, enough to put enough force into a narrow enough area that it'll surely take him off his feet. And it does.
And as he comes off his feet, he engages his flight and floats up, just clear of the now-narrow beam.
Cynthia's eyes widen. Cynthia Willpower Push, DC 70: Fail
Tabe's head snaps up, and with a roar, he charges. It happens in slow motion, to you. Tabe rapidly closes to melee range. The beam cuts off at Cynthia's hands with impressive speed, and she begins to bring her arms up.
Tabe turns, putting his whole body into a massive, brutal kick.
CRACK
Cynthia goes flying as Tabe strikes her right in the chin, sending her flying back, back-
crack
-through.
The arena wards break, and Cynthia slams into the ground back-first, eyes crossed, mouth open. Her friends stare, gaping. The crowd is dead silent.
tak
Tabe settles to the ground in the center of the arena, reduced to a raggedy pair of pants and covered in scorch marks, but victorious.
You let out a shrill cheer and start clapping, and the rest of the arena follows in the loudest noise you've ever heard as every saiyan there hails the fourteen-year-old who overcame the world's greatest fighters to take the final match of the greatest tournament in a century. Tabe looks up at your family's box and grins, flush with victory.
* * *
Cynthia slowly gets her bearings back and rises to her feet, rubbing at her chin. She stares up at Tabe, blinking. "...huh." She shakes her head. You hear her say, "Well, there goes shilling my book."
Collecting herself, she glides up to the arena and approaches Tabe, pulling her glasses back into her hands with telekinesis from where they fell. They exchange a few words below your level of hearing, and by the time you tweak your senses to compensate, Cynthia has already clapped Tabe on the shoulder and flown off to her friends.
Your father gestures for you to follow him before vaulting the rail of your box and floating down into the ring. The cheers don't really subside, even as you step out and follow him. Instead, he simply raises his voice until he's audible anyway.
"Tabe Stauber!" he says, grinning broadly. "Nobody was expecting you today. You've fought through the best fighters in the world, young man, and at the end of the day, you're the only one left standing!" Your dad turns to look at you, and you grab the pouch hanging from your waist, stepping forward. Dad says, "In recognition of the victories you've won today, please accept this prize. You have well and truly earned it."
You give Tabe a broad grin as you drop the purse into his hands. He ducks his head. "Tha- thank you, Scion."
"Good fight!" you say, clapping him on the arm before stepping back to your father's side.
He flashes you a grin.
Your dad clears his throat. "But more than the prize money, I feel that some additional recognition is warranted," he says, his tone softening. The crowd begins to quiet in order to listen in. "Tabe, what you have achieved today is incredible. You went up against fighters who have been honing their skills their entire lives, and you won. I can hardly believe it, even having seen it with my own eyes. I only know- I can easily count how many people I've known who I would have believed could pull this off."
You shoot a glance at your father at the stumble. You know to whom he's referring. Despite yourself, your lips purse slightly.
Tabe's eyes flicker between you and your father. A slight frown crosses his face.
Your father clears his throat again, and Tabe's eyes snap back over to him. "I believe that you've earned another reward," says Dad.
A whisper travels around the arena.
"Name one thing," says Dad. "One thing I can do for you, as thanks for the performance, and recognition of the spectacular level of talent you've shown today. I am impressed. We are impressed."
You snap your gaze over to your father. Did he...?
Your father straightens. "We grant you one favor."
Your eyes widen slightly as shocked gasps rings out across the arena. That was the royal We. Gokun Lords haven't used it since Oni died. Sure, on the one hand it's Dad seizing another opportunity to claw back a bit of lost power and influence, piggy-backing on the hype of the moment. Always thinking. But more than that, it tells you something.
Dad is really serious about this.
Tabe realizes it, too. He stares back, white-faced. He swallows and licks his lips. He looks around.
Then his gaze falls on you, and he nods to himself before looking back at your father.
"Lord Berra-" Tabe grimaces, shaking his head. After a moment of hesitation, he goes to one knee. "Lord Goku. I- I wasn't expecting..." He takes a steadying breath and falls into a more formal tone of speech that a Gokun like him probably thinks sounds like Vegetan formality, even if it's not any particular protocol. "If it's acceptable, my Lord, for my favor, I would like to request the honor of a fight with the Lady Scion."
Dead silence falls in the ring. Tabe lifts his head slightly -- staring at your feet, but not quite daring to look you in the eye.
"Full power," he says, face bright red.
You feel your heartbeat stall out for a moment before kicking back in under high gear. Your eyes widen. You freeze. Your face turns crimson to match his.
"A fight?" says your dad. "Full power? Right here?"
You look at your father. All of the kindness is gone, replaced by the stern appraisal of what you recognize very well as Dad Face.
He snorts. "Bold. Very bold. Maybe too bold. Careful how high you reach, boy."
Tabe doesn't say anything. He lowers his head again, looking at the flagstones of the arena.
You father turns away. "That's not a favor I can grant."
Tabe's head snaps up. "But-!"
"That's my daughter's decision," says Dad, lifting off. "Kakara, give him your answer. I transfer my favor to you." He flies off back to the box and sits down.
Whispers chase each other around the arena for a moment as you stand, frozen with mortification, flattery, embarrassment, and a dozen other feelings you can't really name.
Tabe lifts his gaze up to you. His eyes widen, and you can see his nerve break. "I- sorry," he says, looking away. "I didn't mean- you can say no- no, of course you know you can say no, I meant-" He swallows, glancing around at the crowd as if suddenly recalling their presence. "...shit."
You let out a slightly shrill laugh at the swear. "...ye- yeah. Shit."
Kakara Goku.
You wince. Sorry, Dad!
"I shouldn't have put you on the spot," says Tabe, still not meeting your eyes. "I'm sorry."
Oddly, that makes you feel a little more settled. Not calm -- not when you've just had a boy close to your age ask you for a full-power, one-on-one fight in public -- but settled enough to at least try to react.
You swallow.
EDIT: Oh, for the love of- READ THIS BEFORE YOU POST.
General announcement, folks.
You all are taking entirely the wrong context from this.
This is not an Entitled Agent of the PatriarchyTM demanding the Lord's daughter as a reward for his performance. This is a fourteen-year-old boy meeting the public figure on whom he has a celebrity crush in person, hearing said figure's father tell him, "Ask for something," and blurting out the literal first thing that comes to mind. In this case, asking for the cultural equivalent of a dance.
PROBLEM THE FIRST: While Berra is the one who offered the favor, one would be gravely mistaken to assume that Tabe would in any way characterize what he said as a request of Berra. If Tabe had had the time to think -- and he didn't, this is a fourteen-year-old boy blurting out something in the spur of the moment -- he would have said that he wanted to ask Kakara, and messed up because he was blurting and not thinking. Furthermore: ask. The favor he is requesting is, "If it's acceptable," to have a fight. He is not saying, "Get in the ring, woman. I've earned it." In fact, he would be horrified by the implication. If you re-read the update, you'll see he's horrified already, even by what he said. Which leads me to:
PROBLEM THE SECOND: The public context. Tabe is aware that this is an issue. If you would like to return to the update, you will see him immediately regretting his decision, backpedaling, and apologizing for the context. He realizes that he made a mistake in doing this so publicly, and is apologizing and attempting to reinforce that Kakara should feel no pressure to accept. He did something dumb, and is quite busy regretting it.
PROBLEM THE THIRD: People are under the impression that this is inherently contextually inappropriate. The context is that this is the end of a tournament. In Exile culture, this is broadly equivalent, in the metaphor I shall employ, to a dance. Not necessarily a romantic dance, but not out of the question. The context is that a boy at a dance asked a girl to dance with him, in a romantic context. Now, the public setting is an issue, yes. I addressed that above. Typically, yes, tournaments have brackets and structures, but side fights between private individuals happen all the time, either off the ring, or in the ring when no matches are scheduled. For him to ask for a fight -- and even to do so in a romantic context -- is not inherently inappropriate. Berra opined that it was. You would be well-advised to avoid taking Kakara's overprotective father's opinion of what constitutes an inappropriate advance on his daughter at face value. Particularly when he phrased it as a matter of Tabe reaching above his station (also not a thing. Scions have to marry somebody).
You all are looking at this and saying, "This is rape culture! How dare this boy try to deliberately pressure Kakara into romance against her will!" That is very much not the case. Tabe is fourteen years old, standing in the presence of his celebrity crush, and heard, "Ask for something." He's fourteen, and thus very dumb. He thought of something and blurted it out. He did not think it through. That happened later, as teens tend to do. Credit to him, he realized that he was putting Kakara on the spot and gave his apologies. Did he do the proper and correct thing to completely remove all pressure from Kakara? No. He's panicking. He'll beat himself up over failing to do it once he thinks it over again later.
You all are confidently asserting that this is fundamentally an inappropriate request from start to finish. In this cultural context, the only inappropriate thing is that he did this in front of everybody, and that he addressed the wrong person. He's sorry. He regretted it as soon as he said it. He's not trying to use the crowd to pressure the Scion. Her father is right there. Nobody is that stupid.
You all are assuming malice, when regrettable teenage decisions is the proper interpretation. Hanlon's Razor, everybody. Never assume malice when simple stupidity will do. I wanted to write a scene about a teenage boy making a fool out of himself and immediately regretting just about every decision leading up to that moment, not engage in a pages-long debate on rape culture.
What do you say?
[ ] Yes.
[ ] No.
[-] Write-In.
TWO-HOUR MORATORIUM. THIS VOTE HAS NOW CLOSED.
In case the context did not carry through, this is basically him asking you for a dance, in human terms. Romantic implications included. Warrior-precedence culture, yo. Before you react, doing this in public is a bit forward, but there's nothing outright improper about it. Tabe feels bad because he's second-guessing roughly his entire life at the moment and feels guilty for putting you on the spot. The, "full-power," bit is what makes it explicitly romantic. In Exile culture it has undertones of requesting the kind of connection that (they believe) only happens in an all-out fight, which comes across romantically. Somebody asking you for a spar in general can be just friendly -- even asking somebody to pick up the pace mid-spar is a grey area, and somewhat ambiguous in Exile culture. After all, their beliefs about the kind of connections that form in combat aside, they really also do just very much enjoy a good fight. Thus why Kakara isn't under the impression that Jaffur is constantly hitting on her whenever they interact.
I thought it would be nice of me to include such a simple, easy, one-note choice for you all. Yup, romance is all there is to see here. There's nothing else going on at all. Definitely just some pointless shipping bait.
Poptart, why the sarcasm? Your point will be more than apparent in an update's time.
Because it's not next update yet, and until it is, I don't want to have to deal with people complaining about pointless shipping, or worse, spite-voting in order to avoid what they see as pointless shipping.
So, sarcasm, to be safe. Someday you all will realize that the choices I offer are only rarely so simple as they appear.
I pruned the rolls even from invisitext for this update, save one: the deciding rolls in the Cynthia vs. Tabe fight. As usual, they're in invisitext to stay unobtrusive, but to comment on them: it really did come down to a pair of willpower pushes. Tabe, to avoid being blasted out of the ring by a massively unfavorable exchange wherein Cynthia pegged him with the Kamehameha, rolled a Hail Mary willpower push to stay on his feet and recover.
And passed.
Fair's fair, Cynthia got her own, and it was easier, but she didn't roll a nat-100. So.
A fourteen-year-old takes the largest tournament in Exile history.
I was stunned.
But I'm also actually fairly pleased. My insane, Byzantine mechanics system is meant to model the shounen-style upsets that Dragon Ball helped make famous here in the States. My design goals were twofold: make a mechanics system that organically encourages and generates good stories, and make those stories Dragon-Ball flavored.
I like to think that this upset is well in line with those goals.
I hope you enjoyed, folks! See you around the thread, and have fun talking it out!
A fourteen-year-old takes the largest tournament in Exile history.
I was stunned.
But I'm also actually fairly pleased. My insane, Byzantine mechanics system is meant to model the shounen-style upsets that Dragon Ball helped make famous here in the States. My design goals were twofold: make a mechanics system that organically encourages and generates good stories, and make those stories Dragon-Ball flavored.
I like to think that this upset is well in line with those goals.
Like you said: This is Shounen. It wouldn't be that if the kiddie didn't beat the adults.
Them middle/high schoolers need someone they can emotionally project on to root for.
"
